


Left Over

by kutucababa



Category: Big Hero 6 (2014)
Genre: Brothers, Coping, Family, Fire, Friendship, Graphic Description of Corpses, Grief/Mourning, Love, Poptarts, Recovery, Sad, Spoilers, Tears, Wakes & Funerals, eulogy, some vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-02-26 23:35:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2670578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kutucababa/pseuds/kutucababa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*Big Hero 6 Major Spoilers* Hiro Hamada (and others who loved Tadashi Hamada) struggle to come to terms with the reality of his brother's death. Set in the period between the fire and Baymax's reactivation- the part too sad for Disney to go into detail on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rock

**Author's Note:**

> The more I fell in love with Tadashi Hamada's character, the more I wanted to know what his funeral was like. I planned to simply write Hiro's eulogy for his brother, but it turned into the entire story of his first week or so without him. I'm planning to write each chapter to represent one full day for Hiro. You'll notice that Hiro sounds much more sophisticated in writing than in dialogue- this was intentional. I was trying to do his incredible brain some justice. Please alert me of any grammatical or spelling errors- I am well aware of how they can destroy a serious scene! Thanks for reading!

"It’s the leftover humans. The survivors. They’re the ones I can’t stand to look at, although on many occasions I still fail."

-Death in The Book Thief by Markus Zusak

 

 

One of the many millions of things I have learned in my studies is that our bodies tend to shut down to protect us from feeling the worst pain just before it strikes. You pass out, you go into a coma, you don't feel. In my personal experiences, I have found this to be only partly true. I'm just glad that my brother never felt the kind of pain that your body doesn't allow you to remain comatose through. The kind I'm dealing with.

Now, as I mentioned, my body did try to aid me in this process. While the most important person in the world was running into an inescapable inferno to squeeze one last selfless act into his short, helpful life, I was unconscious on the ground just outside. I had hit my head on the concrete after he had torn free of my grasp. But, looking back, that bump couldn't possibly have been hard enough to knock me out. No, I think that my brain decided to give me a hand. 'Here, Hiro. You've been good to me and fed me so much information over the years. I will repay you now, by taking a nap for the first few minutes of Tadashi's absence.' Wishful thinking. The truth is, you can't power off for the worst part because the worst part is that it lasts forever. You will never stop missing someone you love when they leave for good. You will never stop regretting every stupid remark you made out of anger over petty things. You will never stop seeing them in everyone and everything around you. But your body knows that you cannot stop feeling forever. Your body's job is to keep you alive as best it can, and you are not alive if you are not feeling. Your body is smarter than you and it knows, even when you don't, that this illness, this wound, this hurt, will slowly subside and stop, much like physical pain. Your body knows that pain is also an important feeling, and you are not alive if you haven't felt it.

\--

I wake up at one point. I see a lot of orange and smell a lot of smoke and my head spins and I am out again. The next time I wake up, a cluster of mine and Tadashi's friends are hovering over me, some crying, some shouting into phones, some staring intently at me, some with their eyes fixed on the dying glow of the burning college. We are now a safe distance away from the smoldering building. Firemen have arrived, and it is difficult to tell smoke apart from the steam of the quickly evaporating hose water that rolls lazily towards the sky. Although the flames have been quelled, the air is still hot, like when you stand too close to a bonfire, and it burns my eyes. I close them.

"Gogo, he was awake for a second, you missed it! ...No, I'm sure. Hiro? Hiro?" Soft hands with long, slender fingers pat my check. I open my eyes halfway.

"Yeah, I'm... I'm up. Just resting." My throat is dry and my voice sounds like I swallowed microbots. Many faces crowd my vision.

"Hiro!" "Are you alright?" "Did you get burnt?" "Where is your brother?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm okay, really." I sit up to prove it. "What do you mean, 'where's my brother'? He-" I spy the ash-coated baseball hat lying beside my hand. Memories flood back to me, of an argument and a professor and a harsh shove to the chest. "He didn't meet back up with you guys?" Silence. "...He didn't come back out, did he?" Confusion.

Honey kneels beside me. "Hiro, what are you talking about? Can you please explain?" But I can't explain. I am confused, too. For another moment. Until I remember an important detail, the last thing I saw. It had not been Tadashi that shoved me away from the fire, but the force of an explosion.

Have you ever seen the face of a boy who just realized that their brother is dead? My friends saw it.

"He went in there after Professor Callaghan, I couldn't stop him, oh my God, Tadashi is still in there, Tadashi is-"

"Hiro." Wasabi firmly plants his hands on my shoulders. He is smiling reassuringly. He doesn't have enough proof to assume the worst yet. "Calm down, little dude, you'll hyperventilate."

"No, you don't understand-" I try to interject.

"We haven't gotten a hold of Aunt Cass yet. He's got to be with her. Give me your phone." He reaches into one of my hoodie's pockets, extracts the device, and finds her contact. I have the picture memorized. She was teaching Tadashi and I how to make some type of pastry and my brother had flicked batter on her cheek. I'd snapped the picture of her priceless scowl before she could wipe it off. Wasabi continues to speak to me. "Tadashi's brave, but he's not stupid. Once he realized how dangerous it was, he probably-" He pauses to answer Aunt Cass as she picks up, but I seize the opportunity to tell them what I'd been trying to.

"Tadashi is dead." For a moment, no one breathes.

Fred is the first to speak. "Dude, why would you say that? We don't know if-"

"There was an explosion. Just after he got through the door. I saw it. He's dead."

Slowly, Wasabi raises my phone to his ear. "Ms. Hamada? It's Wasabi. Hiro's with us, he's okay." He presses a button. The phone is on speaker.

"Oh, great, one down, haha! Phew! I was really worried until I saw that there was a TV nearby and I caught part of the news. Tell Hiro they're saying no one was seriously injured or killed, thank God! So I wasn't as scared anymore. Where are you guys? I've been looking everywhere, and Hiro wasn't picking up!" My Aunt's familiar, muffled voice carries out from the speaker and hangs in the air. "Guys?"  
"We're not too far away from the building. Under the sign, yes ma'am. Please come here quickly. Bye." The phone beeps rhythmically, indicating that the other end has hung up. Wasabi carefully sets my phone on the large sign behind him. He carefully drops to his knees, and carefully prays.

\--

It takes them a painfully long time to find the body. The eerie, pale blue glow of a family of LED flashlights penetrates the shattered glass and metal frame of the front of the school. Along with the shuffling sounds from the people inside, I can hear the creaks and groans of the building. It seems to be weeping for us. Most people have left. Gogo offers me a ride home. I decline. I will not leave until I see my brother. Logically, I understand that he had virtually no chance of survival, but a small part of me still needs something to solidify the impossible reality of his death.

Aunt Cass, I believe, is feeling the same way. She is frighteningly quiet and calm as she rubs circles on my neck and talks quietly with the fire chief. I can't be sure, though. She's never let Tadashi or I see when she's in pain. She thinks that, as our mother figure, she has to be our rock. As much as I hate the thought of her keeping her problems to herself because of us, she has a small point- I kind of need her to for the time being.

Another man calls her over and they exchange words and nods. Aunt Cass hugs herself, inhales deeply, and returns to me. "Someone inside just talked to him over the radio. They found him. They're bringing him out." I am still sitting on the ground by the sign, so she squats down next to me. "Hiro, It's not too late to go home with Gogo. There's no reason for you to scare yourself like this, no reason to put yourself through that extra pain-"

"I don't really need to answer you, do I? You do know what I'll say, right?"

Simultaneously, we notice the commotion at the top of the steps. They are trying to maneuver a stretcher down the steps. My heart feels hot and hyperactive and, suddenly, I am scared. I'm terrified to have confirmation that Tadashi is dead. I'm horrified to see what lays in that stretcher. Will I recognize him?

Miraculously, they manage to get the apparatus to ground level with out spilling its contents. They open a stand for it whose sudden metallic squeaks make me shiver. Such a noise feels out of place. I lay both palms flat on the ground and shift so I am sitting on my heels. I rise slowly and make my way over.

I do recognize Tadashi. This is because he is my brother. I would have recognized him if the firemen had returned from the wreckage with one of his ribs. I can't imagine anyone else could have told you who they were looking at if they didn't know.  
After the first daring glance I take at him, I turn away and take a break. It's too much to take in. Too gory and surreal. My first instinct is to be appalled, but after a beat, I find myself looking back as I remember that the remaining moments I have to look at him are numbered. His body is very rigid. One arm is splayed out to the side at an awkward, unnatural angle. His face is burned beyond recognition. Much of his skin is melted, blistered, twisted, and caked in blood. His hair is gone, his ears are gone, his cardigan is forever molded to him, and his eyelids are clenched shut and fused together. I dash to a bush and vomit violently. Aunt Cass is with me within two minutes, holding back my hair and rubbing circles on my back again.

"I shouldn't have ever let you see him like this," she thinks aloud. "I'm sorry, Hiro. They're saying that, if there was an explosion like you said, he died immediately- he didn't suffer. It's almost lucky that the blast killed him. He would have died anyway if he'd stayed inside, but much slower. He would have felt himself being burned alive. But it happened so quickly, he probably felt no pain."

I respond with several gasps. I raise my sleeve to my mouth and harshly run it over my lips. Slowly, I meet my Aunt's gaze. Her eyes are swollen and wet. She looks small, wilted, and not at all rock-like. "I'm ready to go home now." She smiles weakly.

"Yeah, let's go home."

The drive back to the Lucky Cat Café is silent and tense. No music is playing, but Aunt Cass is distracted enough to forget her turn signal every time and to blow through at least two red lights. Tadashi's baseball cap sits heavily in my lap. I have taken my other sleeve (the one without the contents of my stomach on it) and cleaned some of the ash off.

Aunt Cass struggles with the lock at the door to the café. I can see her hands shaking from where I stand a few feet away. She grunts in frustration until finally the key clicks in place and she pushes the door open with her hip. She grabs the small door sign and slams it to the other side. It now reads "open," and I'm fairly sure she doesn't mean that, so I discreetly flip it back around. I'm waiting for her to crack. She's cried already, which is one step above me, at least, but she can't stay this relaxed for much longer. I can see that it's killing her. I stand in the doorway for a while, taking deep breaths, looking around. How can this café look exactly the same when so much has changed?

 

Suddenly. I hear loud clashes and oomphs from the kitchen, where Aunt Cass has trudged ahead. I hurry around the counter to find my aunt sitting on the floor in a pile of spilled flour, bawling and alternating between shoveling cupcakes in her mouth and pouring sake down her throat. She looks like she is melting. An igneous rock. She sees me and cries, "Hiro... I'm such a mess. I don't know what I'm going to do without him. I depended so much on his help to be a good guardian, you know? There are so many things he always did for me that I took for granted. He did all the dad-work." She sighs and rubs a frosting-covered hand along the bridge of her nose. "Your parents counted on me to take care of you. Both of you. Tonight, I let them down so bad... I didn't take care of Tadashi like I promised, Hiro, I promised them, and I blew it-"

"Hang on, whoa," I cut her off. "You're right. I don't know what we're going to do without him, either. But you had nothing to do with what happened tonight. This was an accident. The worst, most tragic accident I've ever seen, but still, it was no one's fault- no one could have stopped this." I sit to her left. "You are the greatest, hardest-working aunt in the world. Tadashi loved you, and I love you, too. You've done so much for us. Thanks for that, okay?"

She squeezes me tightly. This poor sweatshirt, marinated in vomit, ash, and now cake. At this point, I've given up caring. My head is pressed into the curve of her neck and I can hear every gulping swallow and hiccup for air she makes. "I don't know how to plan a funeral. I don't know where to start."

"Let's not start tonight," I suggest. "Let's not contact anyone about any of this tonight. Let's get showers and watch some TV together until we're exhausted, and sleep on it. It's been biggest, worst day of our lives. We're entitled."

So, we do just that. Clean and comfortable in our pajamas, we meet up in Aunt Cass's room and flip on her television. The news is on. The news is one of the only things we watch in this house; we are not big television people. The news is covering the fire.

"We have just received updates on the tragic fire that began at the San Fransokyo Institute of Technology. We told you formerly that all students, faculty, and other persons were evacuated safely, but we have unfortunately just found out that this is not-"

Aunt Cass aggressively punches the channel change button several times in rapid succession. "What are you doing?!? Put it back. I need to hear what they say about this. If they don't get this right, I swear-" The remote lands in my lap. Aunt Cass is facing away with a pillow over her head. I decide not to waste more time and promptly flip back until I see the same reporter as before, who is feigning sadness unconvincingly.

"-have informed us that freshman Tadashi Hamada and Professor Robert Callaghan were inside the building when an explosion took place." One of Tadashi's senior pictures and a less professional photograph of the professor consume the screen, side by side. "Hamada, who was 19, has been confirmed dead. Callaghan's body has yet to be found. We will continue to bring you updates on the situation as we receive them."

I dig my thumb into the power button and the room is suddenly engulfed by darkness. I appreciate it. "That's... That's it?" I say aloud. Tadashi deserves books and documentaries written about him. He deserves so much more than a sentence about his death on the 11:00 news. I wonder briefly who gave the news crew the little information they did have, as Aunt Cass and I had been occupied the entire time. I gently shake the woman next to me, craving an answer, but she is fast asleep. Lucky.

I conclude then that I should at least attempt to rest, as well. I pull a blanket over her and return to my own room.

I don't realize how drained and exhausted I am until I lay down. Suddenly, I can hardly keep my eyes open. Thoughts of the day all run together and dissipate. I roll over so I face my brother's bed and release a long yawn. "It's been a wild day. Oyasumi, Tadashi-san. Goodnight." My eyelids are heavy and my limbs are warm and relaxed and my brain is shutting off when I realize that my roommate has not answered as he always does. I recall today's events and shoot up straight.

I just said goodnight to a dead man.

The tears come. They have finally made their much anticipated grand entrance. I can't get them to stop, though, and I'm crying too hard, and I'm gasping because I'm choking on sobs and I can't breathe, can't think, can't believe everything that has been destroyed today.

It was supposed to be a good day. I was so excited to present my invention at the showcase and Tadashi was beaming. I was proud of my project. I was Tadashi's project. In his final moments before the fire, he was congratulating me and I could see all of the love in his eyes. I can only pray now that I reflected it, that he saw how grateful I was for him. My next thought is of peering into that stretcher, and another, more severe bout of panicked mourning consumes me.

Through my tears, I see him. I see him in the massive crowd at the showcase and lock eyes with him. He is my sanity, the only thing keeping me stable, reminding me that I will be alright. I remember perfectly how his lips moved then, just slightly. Just one word.

"Breathe."

Tadashi tethers me to Earth and to peace, even after he himself has drifted away.


	2. Fury and Food

I wake up in a fit of anger.

Firstly, I am furious with myself. I had nightmares about Tadashi throughout the night, and they weren't even about his death as one would expect- they were about seeing his corpse. Rhythmically I remind myself, "That's your brother now. That's Tadashi," but it does little to help. I am beyond furious that my kindhearted brother has become some sort of monster in my minds eye. It's disgusting and wrong and scary- I loved him, I still love him, and I am repulsed by this updated image of his face. 

I am repulsed by myself. 

Despite what I told Aunt Cass yesterday to make her feel better, I continually feel as if this accident could, indeed, have been prevented. I was right there when he ran in. I could have talked him out of it. True, he could have still insisted on going in, still yanked away, but I could have at least tried. In the moment, I had trusted him fully. Throughout the years I've trusted Tadashi with everything; he was almost always right. 

My brain struggles to wrap itself around the fact that he wasn't right this time. He was brilliant. He knew what would happen if he went inside. He knew exactly what he was doing. But why? 

The direction of my anger shifts to my deceased brother. How could he do this to us? Why would he ever make such a stupid decision? One of his stupid outfits is still hanging off the corner of our stupid divider so I tear it off and throw it on the ground. The hanger skitters off in one direction and his clothes slide towards my bed. I grab Megabot off of my shelf and throw it towards his side of the room. The heavy metal clatters loudly against the floor. The pieces separate and I don't bother putting them back together. "Hiro, you have such a bright future ahead of you!" I kick the pieces away from me. "You need to start using your brain! Yeah, well you did, too!" I need to break something. I'm being stupid, now- Megabot is designed so it can't break. I swipe one of his ugly Tengu mask off of its nail and hurl it at the ground. The red fragments tremble on the ground for a moment. Tadashi's stupid cast iron teakettle is sitting atop some books in the stupid midway point between our rooms. I snatch it by the handle and lob it at his bookshelf. The books tumble out and the wood splinters yet still I am not satisfied. I begin chasing after the kettle but stop abruptly at the divider. Without warning the weight of guilt begins to weigh heavier on my shoulders than any cast iron, or any physical weight, for that matter. I can't further destroy the sanctity of his room.

I step back and sit with my legs crossed, catching my breath and staring inside this precious time capsule. Aside from the decimated bookshelf, it looks the same as it looks every day when he leaves for nerd school and I remain at home. He could walk in any minute. I extend my hand to the side and slide his hat towards me by the visor. Gingerly I pad into his side of the room and rest it on the perfectly smooth top sheet of his bed. I return to my own side to pick his sweater up off of the floor. My fingers grace over the smooth cashmere. It's obvious that it hasn't been washed because it still smells like him- like green tea shampoo and the stupid Original Flavor Trident sugar free gum that never left his mouth and inner tube plastic and our house after we make rice. Like oil and metal and all of his friends because nothing could ever just be about him. Like donuts and the wind. Not at all like fire.

I hit a button to reassemble Megabot. I fold the clothes neatly and put them in my own drawer. Perhaps it is because I might wear them if I ever grow into them. Perhaps it is because I know I will never disturb my brother's room ever again.

The door flies open so fast that the knob cracks against the wall. "Hiro? Hiro, I heard a racket from up here, are you okay? I'm sorry I didn't come faster, we have guests downstairs, oh God, please be okay-"

"Aunt Cass, hey, hey, I'm right here. I'm okay. Now." She hugs me, momentarily severing my air supply.

"Oooh thank God. I thought... I didn't know what to think." Her eyes land on the wreckage of the bookshelf. "What... did you do?" She digs her manicured nails into my ear and drags me in front of her so she can see my eyes.

"Got a little upset. I'm sorry, I've since regained some self control. It won't happen again." She sighs and shakes her head, smiling sadly.

"Well, now that you remember how to behave, why don't you come downstairs with me and visit? Maybe help plan the funeral with us?" I tense up.

"I- You know what? I think I'll stay up here and..." I scan my room until I see something helpful- a dusty box on one of the higher shelves, full of old photographs. "and go through some old pictures, pull my favorites, and make a slideshow." I hope I concealed my reluctance to come in contact with other people nicely. I throw in a cheesy grin for good measure. Aunt Cass licks a finger and smooths down a piece of my eternally unkempt hair. 

"Awesome. You should come down and visit as soon as you're done, 'kay?" I am already hunched over the box, rummaging through its contents.

"Sure," I shrug in affirmation. When she is gone, I pull out an envelope of photos developed six years ago. I fall into a seated position with a thump and fan the pictures out in front of me. For once, I am assiduous about keeping the pictures in chronological order. I smile fondly at thirteen-year-old Tadashi with his braces and acne. This was before he traded his glasses for contacts. I'm thankful that I have yet to reach the "ugly pubescent teen" phase, although my brother went through it with commendable grace and charm. I leaf through old karate and baseball pictures and throw my head back in laughter when I find one of the two of us dressed up for Halloween. I am Ash Ketchum and Tadashi is a giant paper mâché pokéball. I sigh happily. 

As I catch my breath, the small memorial erected in the corner by the door for my parents catches my eye. I decide that Tadashi should join them. I find an older batch of photos and finally succeed in obtaining a portrait featuring both him and our parents, all flashing bright smiles and wearing colorful yukatas. As I was only three when the car accident happened, I can't say I miss them terribly, but Tadashi was nine and I'm aware that it had hit him hard. Knowing that he is with them again brings some condolence. I swap the pictures in the frame and replace it on the little table. That's better.

In higher spirits, I return to my work. I've isolated about one hundred of my favorites when Aunt Cass returns to check on me. She leans over my shoulder and admires my selections. "Ooohh, haha! This one's my favorite." Her voice, although it remains cheerful, has a slight tremble to it. She wipes her nose on her wrist and raises the photograph of Tadashi playing Santa on Christmas morning. She rolls her eyes back and runs a finger under each of them to catch the moisture before it can smear her makeup. "If you need more, I still have all the ones we used at his graduation party in an album somewhere."

"Alright, thanks. I think I'm pretty set, though. Anything else you needed while you're up here?" I ask.

"Yeah. Well, first, I brought you some breakfast." She scurries over to my dresser where she has set a heaping plate of Tamagoyaki and muffins and moves it next to my side. "But, more importantly, I needed to ask your opinion on a few funeral details. I need your seal of approval to feel like I'm doing an okay job."

"Okay, shoot," I prompt her, although I really have no desire to discuss such dismal things so soon after my short-lived surge of joy. 

"So, we were thinking of having everything on Monday. Sooner would have been better, but tomorrow wouldn't give us enough time to plan, and pretty much every cemetery is closed on Sundays. Speaking of cemeteries, after some careful thought, we decided to put him in the same one as your parents. I'm not a big fan of it, all headstones have to be flat and there are super annoying rules about when you can visit and what you can leave at the graves, but we didn't want him to be all alone, you know?" She continues rambling about what the obituary will say and who the pallbearers will be. I tune her out for a while. I release my tight grip on the photo as I realize that the pads of my fingers have left sweaty indentations in the paper. "-and obviously we'll need you to speak at the service. Have you started thinking about what to say in your eulogy?" She looks expectantly into my eyes.

"I... I hadn't thought about it, actually. I... don't know where I'd start." I ponder on this for a moment. How do you summarize the most important person in the world in a few sentences? I become very apprehensive about actually penning my thoughts on Tadashi, largely because I recognize that it is something I absolutely have to do. Inescapable realities have recently started making me nervous. I distract myself. "So, you said 'we.' Who else is here?"

"Oh, just a couple close friends of the family, you know. Honey and Fred stopped over earlier. Right now, there's a break in the visitors. That's why I came up to talk to you. I'd better get back down there and check if anyone else has shown up, though! Oh, one more thing!" Aunt Cass lifts my chin so I am looking at her. "You don't have to leave your room yet if you're not ready. Do whatever you need to do to feel better, sweetheart. I don't want you to feel rushed. Stay up here for a week if you need to. I know this is very... Well, this must be darn near impossible for you. But you've always had a knack for working with impossible odds, so I know you'll get through this. We'll get through this. Okay?" The corners of my mouth turn up a little, but I have to bite my lip to restrain the tears. I nod once, quickly. "I want to hear you say it, Hiro."

"Okay." My voice trembles. I swallow hard. Aunt Cass hugs me and stands up.

"I'll leave you to your brainstorming and your food, then. Get to work, young man!" She playfully commands.

"Wait, Aunt Cass, one more thing," I call after her. She stops and turns her head. "Can we have a closed casket funeral? Please?" I don't mention the nightmares, or any specific reason.

"I was planning on it, honey. I don't want the way he looks now to distract from the kind of man he was," she replies quietly.

"Yeah. Thanks for understanding," I say to my feet. I hear her making her way down the stairs.

Eat first? Write first? I decide to do both. I gather my breakfast, pencils, and paper in one concentrated area on the floor. I slide a book under one sheet so my pencil doesn't poke through. I shovel a generous bite of food into my mouth and begin. 

"Tadashi Hamada was..." I scratch it out. "My brother, Tadashi," I scribble over it. "We're here today to remember-" Substitute 'celebrate the life of' for 'remember.' I pierce the paper with my pencil and swallow. I catch another chunk of food in my chopsticks and grind it between my teeth for too long. I draw dark circles around the new hole in the paper. I am getting nowhere with this. I take another bite. I can't do this. I have so many ideas of things I can write. There is so much to say in this two minute speech and I feel overwhelmed as I realize that, realistically, there is no possible way to sum up the life of this man in any given length of time. You can't "sum up" someone's life. Every detail is important. The little ones that don't get talked about are the most crucial. Tadashi only lived nineteen years, but he lived so much in them. Two minutes is not enough time to teach someone who a person was. Not unless-

Unless you were Tadashi Hamada, who could make you feel like he'd known you for years after a single conversation. Who made friends with people by smiling at them. Who saw your soul before he saw your face.

The piece of egg in my mouth suddenly feels too slimy and foreign to remain in my body. It is fortunate that there is a bathroom adjacent to my bedroom, because I barely make it inside before I am throwing up the three mouthfuls of nourishment I have dared to take in since before the SFIT showcase.

\--

I don't try to write again that day. I do try to eat again, though, out of guilt. Five different people have brought us meals and Aunt Cass has begged me to take some so she doesn't eat it all. She is having the opposite problem- she can't stop eating. Once she leaves, I attempt once more to feed myself, as I truly am hungry and I do want to eat the delicious-looking quiche in front of me. On my fourth forkful, I accidentally notice the SFIT poster that Tadashi had stapled to my wall the night we started working on my project. Its purpose had been to remind me what I was working for and that it would pay off bountifully, but now, it only serves as a reminder that the only person who knew how to help me when I was stuck in an unfavorable place was gone. I feel myself gagging again and decide eating is not my first priority at this time anyway. If I can't keep anything down, why bother? I brush some of my crumbs into my fish tank instead.

Later that evening, I stand on my bed and scratch a tally mark into one of the wooden beams that stretch across the ceiling. First full day. I retire to my sheets with an empty brain, an empty stomach, and the knowledge that an empty bed rests on the other side of the room.


	3. Manna for the Soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of a filler chapter. It is a little draggy and not very exciting, so I apologize in advance. Please stay tuned, though, because things will certainly get more interesting from here on out! To avoid any confusion, note that this chapter takes place over the course of two days. Thank you so very much for your comments and kudos! As always, they are greatly appreciated!

Poptarts. Room temperature, strawberry Poptarts, will be the only thing I am able to hold down for the next few days. 

At least that's something. In fact, many small things have improved by the second day succeeding the disaster.

I have beaten my writer's block and have been working tirelessly on my eulogy. The realization that helped me get going was that I do not need to write about what Tadashi did, but rather who he was. Everyone who attends the ceremony should hopefully already have known my brother- there is no reason for me to educate them about him.

I have also found it progressively easier to leave my room. I have spent the morning aiding Aunt Cass in the café. I know that it is crucial that we work hard the few days we have the opportunity to be open this week, as funerals aren't cheap and we obviously can't open up shop during that time. Mostly, I help because I hate feeling useless. Before now, I felt very much as if I was sick with an awful virus and couldn't possibly manage to do anything at all. It is one of the most disheartening feelings in existence. 

Communicating with more than one other human has proven to be both detrimental and useful in my healing process. Oddly enough, it is not the familiar faces that make me feel better, but the complete strangers. Every time one of my brother's friends, a neighbor, a regular customer, or anyone who knows that we are Tadashi's family walks in, they coddle me and ask if I'm alright and give me advice on dealing with something they don't understand. They tell me he's not really gone, they tell me it might help if I talk about it, and they tell me scores of other things that aren't true and cause my mouth to twist with distaste. Being reminded by another party of the hell I'm going through is the very last thing I want or need. I can recall that my brother was burned alive just fine on my own, thank you. As much as talking to those people hurts, it is true that I need contact with society. Just not the portion of society that is aware of my situation.

I wait on an elderly woman sitting alone at a table for two. Her head is tilted towards the window slightly, as if it is resting softly on a pillow, and her wrinkly lips are relaxed into a calm smile. Her slanted eyes come close to being completely shut when she sees me approaching and grins broadly. "Can I get you anything, ma'am?"

"Oh, I think I'll just have some tea, thank you. Isn't it a lovely day?" she replies.

"We have several teas today. Green, a Chai Oolong blend, Raspberry, and English Breakfast," I inform her, posed with my notepad and pencil at the ready. I follow her gaze to the bright sky and quiet street beyond the glass and my stance softens. It's beautiful outside.

"Bring me whichever is your favorite, dear," she responds. I bob my head down quickly in a bow and flash her a grin before I turn and head for the kitchen. I have great respect for those older and wiser than me. She has most likely accumulated more knowledge on pain in her life than anyone else in the café. She does not treat me as an individual in need of nursing. She comments on the quality of the weather. She reminds me that, for most of the world, it is, indeed, a lovely day. I silently thank her for her priceless update on what life is like for the general population. 

There is one subcategory in the group of "other humans I've come in contact with" who I am unsure how I feel about. These are the complete strangers who sympathize with our family. These are the authors of the newspaper article on the fire. These are the customers who read said article over a cup of coffee and shake their heads in sorrow, unaware that the "beloved brother and aunt whom Tadashi has left behind" are behind the counter, merely a few paces away. These are the surprising number of news-savvy Good Samaritans who have already written us sympathy letters and included some spare change, who recognize us upon entering the shop and offer their condolences. Granted, they, too, perpetually remind me of my situation and focus on the negative. But they do not know me well enough to coddle me. With shame, I admit to taking pleasure in learning that my present position is so unfortunate that even unbiased parties recognize it and take pity on me. It's akin to an "I told you so" feeling, except there is no one to tell. It's human nature to want people to understand.

Regardless of how I feel about the groups of people with varying degrees of knowledge on my life visiting our café, they come in a constant, steady flow. Tadashi's friends seem to stop by most of all, as the majority of our family is either no longer with us or living far away. It is easy for me to see that they truly loved, appreciated, and respected him when he was alive, but it is also apparent that they feel as if they didn't love, appreciate, or respect him nearly enough. "I didn't either," I want to tell them. "I'm his brother and I still took him for granted." I do not share this, though. I am embarrassed. I lived with him and still managed to forget he was around; focusing all of my attention on my latest fighting bot, studying new magnetic technologies, sleeping. I never once visited him at his lab. There were a lot of things I never got to do with my brother.

The desire to cling to every last scrap of something we love is also a key trait of humans. 

Tadashi's friends have repeatedly expressed their interest in finding his cellphone so they might hear his voice again, unveil a few never-before-seen selfies, etc. I have repeatedly expressed my extreme opposition to this notion. 

The first two or so times Honey asks if she can please go up to his room and do a quick scan for it, I am able to veto her suggested course of action. The third time, however, my veto is vetoed by the majority (rules are non-existent in the politics of friendship). The entire crew races each other upstairs, Fred nearly knocking multiple picture frames from the wall, and the Great Cellphone Reconnaissance Mission ensues. I trail grudgingly behind them, tidying up the mess that remains in their wake. 

"Fred! The heck, man? You're throwing stuff everywhere and not putting it back where it belongs," Wasabi chastises from the other room. At least someone agrees with me. At least someone else is making sure they don't destroy my brother's pristine- 

Oh no.

"I can't find it anywhere."

"Check his pockets." 

"Do you think he had it with him when... You know?"

I shut them up with a healthy slam of the door.

"What do you think you're doing?" They stare wide-eyed back at me. No answer comes for a few long seconds.

"...Found it," Fred eventually informs us. 

"Do you realize," I breathe in deeply through my nose and push my bangs out of my face. "...what you just did?" 

"...Found the phone?" That is the final straw.

"Get OUT of this room! You've destroyed... Everything... Every last piece I had..." Honey tries to rest a hand on my quivering arm. I swat her away and point at the door. "Go! All of you. What are you waiting for? Get out of here! And... And give me that phone. Going through it would be such an invasion of privacy, can't you see?!" I swipe it from Fred's grip. I stomp to the paper divider and drag it shut. The wooden floor groans as it skids across the space and the clack of wood on wood lingers in the air after its frame hits the wall. I don't watch them leave. Instead, I stare at the phone. Its plastic case is warm from being trapped in my vice-like grip.

My breathing gradually slows, but my face still feels hot and my vision remains blurred with tears. "Unbelievable," I mutter aloud. 

As the anger subsides, it becomes replaced with curiosity. I've been admittedly clinging to every piece of my brother that is left, and this could be a tremendously tangible new addition to this collection. The desire to find more handholds to cling onto is not exclusive to Tadashi's friends. My shivering fingers find the power button and Tadashi's screensaver, a selfie from a few weeks ago featuring me fast asleep behind him, flashes on the screen. I laugh shakily and roll my eyes up to the ceiling. "Knucklehead. I deserve to look through your pictures if there are more like this." I drag the lock open and scroll to the bottom of his camera roll.

Picture after picture of Aunt Cass, Fred, Wasabi, Honey, Gogo, and myself flash before my eyes. Some are group selfies, some are pictures from important events, and some are just pictures of Tadashi with one of us that could have been taken at any time. One album in particular interests me. It is titled "Camera Sniping." I open it.

First is a picture of Wasabi meticulously arranging his tools. He is focused firmly on the task at hand and pays no regard to the camera. Next comes a candid photo of Gogo smiling with more warmth and care than I have ever seen her express. Succeeding this is Fred scanning one of his comics with an uncharacteristic yet sincere look of concern, and an awful photograph of Honey Lemon angrily staring down one of her seemingly failed projects. Last is a picture of me lounging on my bed, my head lolled to one side as I gaze at my fish tank.

My brother took all of these photographs of us without us ever knowing. He cared so deeply that he took pictures of us being ourselves when we forgot we were not alone; he studied who each of us was when no one was watching, simply because he loved us. 

It dawns on me that maybe this is exactly what Tadashi would want us to do; study the parts of him no one knew about. I rub at my swollen eyes and hoist myself back onto my feet. Four of my brother's most beloved friends are sulking downstairs on account of my selfishness. They are the ones who deserve to see these photographs.

Downstairs, the troop is sitting solemnly at a round table. When she sees me, Gogo stands. "Guys, it's time to go. We should let Hiro do his thing." Wasabi rises beside her and neatly returns his chair to its place. 

"No, no, wait. I'm... I'm sorry I acted up back there. I'm dueling with more than a few unpleasant thoughts, you know? I thought some more about what I said to you and I even looked through a couple of Tadashi's pictures and it made me realize that he really... You all... We should look through the rest together, okay?" I pull a chair up. Its metal legs skid loudly across the café's floor and a few customers turn their heads, but this needs to happen now. They can stare if they so wish

I'm surrounded in a flash. Everyone is scrambling to see the small, glowing screen. It's no wonder- its contents are, indeed, invaluable. Honey, being the phone fanatic she is, reaches over me and opens the Camera Roll. It takes exactly three swipes of her finger in quick succession until she is in tears. "Oh my God." She covers her mouth, sets the phone gently on the table, and separates herself. "I can't do this. Hiro... Hiro, can you send me, um, all the ones I'm in? I'll look at them some other time. It's... It's too soon."

Inexplicably, this angers me. He wasn't her brother, he was mine. She was the one who initiated the search for the phone, anyway, and she thinks she can tell me it's "too soon?" Reluctantly, I comply with her request and prepare to send a few of them. I tap out the first few letters of her name, but it doesn't come up. I pull up Tadashi's contacts list and find that each and every person is listed by his or her true first, middle, and last name. I recall that Honey Lemon's real name is Aiko, which allows me to find her with ease. I look back at her. She used to simply look tall and thin to me, but at that moment she takes on more of a fragile and frail appearance.

I shove aside my thoughts of how close I was with Tadashi. It doesn't even matter how close he was with each of us, because no matter where we placed individually on his scale of dearness, he was the dearest friend any of us have ever had. Keeping every last relic and memento to myself would be selfish. It's not a right I deserve, when there are so many others who loved and were loved by him. 

We move to the garage at this point for some more privacy, and so that I can transfer all of the photographs to one of the computers for safekeeping. It takes us an entire hour to get through all of Tadashi's pictures. For someone as techy as he, Tadashi surprisingly never expressed any interest whatsoever in having the latest and greatest phone. He had kept the same one for over four years and had accumulated almost two thousand pictures in the process. He was someone who found it hard to let go of things. He probably would have grown up to be a hoarder. Tadashi kept his stuffed animals and childhood toys well into his preteen years. Even being significantly younger, I had given up my own childish possessions well before he. Everything had sentimental value to him. "I know this jacket is too small, Hiro, but I need to keep it because it was the first piece of clothing I bought in San Fransokyo!" Tadashi saw the hidden beauty in everything. Rows of funny-faced selfies taken as a joke by his friends were no exception. As mundane as they might seem, I'm thrilled to have seen them. I wish I hadn't already made the slideshow, so I could add a few of Tadashi's own pictures.

Tadashi has six missed calls from Aunt Cass. I open his voicemail and play the short recording. 

"Hi, you've reached Tadashi Hamada!" Gogo stops kicking Fred. Fred actually shuts up. "I can't make it to the phone right now, but if you leave me your name and a brief message, I'll get back to you as soon as possible! Thanks." Static. Fidgeting. Shivering.

It is good to hear his voice again. Once Tadashi's troop of friends departs, I play the recording until I have his voice memorized again. It scares me how quickly I've forgotten the distinct tone with which my brother spoke; deep, warm, knowing. I listen to it one more time for good measure, but it is cut short by an indignant growl from my abdomen. Right, food. I trot into the kitchen to retrieve my Poptarts, but find the box entirely empty. I make a mental note to get more, although I know already that I'll remain as remiss as ever when it comes to feeding myself. 

Upon returning to the garage and Tadashi's cellphone, I scan the apps quickly for any straggling pictures, videos, or anything else that catches my eye. There are tons of notes and ideas on perfecting his robot, Baymax, scattered throughout. They clutter up his phone and make finding points of interest feel like finding Easter Eggs. One section of the cellphone that I allow to rest in peace is the internet, namely the browser history. That is a bit of private information that no man deserves to have violated. I don't particularly care to know, anyway. 

I return the phone to Tadashi's desk. I restore a few desecrated areas of his room, but I refuse to linger inside. 

Over the course of the weekend, Aunt Cass and I travel to all corners of San Fransokyo to hire the necessary people, arrange and plan the service, get an obituary in the paper, purchase food for those who stay with us at our café after everything is over, and scores of other last-minute preparatory tasks. It is exhausting and depressing and impossibly complicated, even for someone of my scholastic merit. 

Laying in my bed the night prior to Tadashi's funeral, my stomach twists in knots that are not the result of my Poptart-exclusive diet. My chest feels sickeningly warm as my heart pounds away. This upcoming, formerly unthinkable event could turn out to be the most hellish day of my life, or it could prove to be exactly the shove I need to help me heal- the displaced ball joint of my shoulder being popped back into its socket. While I am aware that only time will tell, I cannot help but anticipate the outcome.

Three scratches sleep in the wood above my head. My brother sleeps in a refrigerator for one last night. I don't sleep.


	4. Saying Sayonara (Part 1)

At calling hours, the line trails out the door, like an overgrown snake stuffed haphazardly inside a box far too small. I may have been the only close blood relative Tadashi had left, but I was far from the only family he had. Even a few of my distant, English-speaking Japanese relatives have come all the way down to be here today. Every teacher and coach Tadashi has had, his coworkers from his summer job at the Apple Store, teammates, lab partners, acquaintances; most of the general population of San Fransokyo are all present. The funeral home's employees are all red-faced and sweaty as they try to figure out a way to accommodate all of these guests. 

Not only is there an abundance of visitors, but we have been sent so many flowers that we are unsure how to fit everything. It was my idea to place pots all around the funeral home, rather than only gathered around the casket, so that people may admire or be distracted by them as they wait in the extensive line. In fact, I believe I've seen shorter lines to meet Cinderella in Disney World. While I'm sure the wait must be excruciating for the mourners, it can't possibly be more painful than it is for me.

For the first twenty or so people who pass through, I can't think of anything to say. I don't know any of them at all. Eventually I settle on forcing a smile and thanking them for coming. I offer sweaty hand shakes and tell them how much it means to me that they showed up. Many ask how I am. This is a question I really struggle with. There is no word or phrase to explain it, and if there was, I don't think they'd like to hear it. Hearing that another human is in pain makes one uncomfortable. Therefore, I tell them what they'd like to hear. "It's hard, but I'll pull through."   
"I'm still really upset about it, but it'll all be okay." I roll with this pattern for a while. It makes things go smoothly and quickly and as painlessly as possible.

Unfortunately, people I know or that Tadashi knew well do eventually make their way to the front. Wasabi, Honey, GoGo, and Fred seem to have carpooled as they all arrive at once. Wordlessly they kneel in front of the casket one at a time, hug Aunt Cass and I firmly, and take their seats in the lines of chairs. It is a relief that they don't try to talk. Even without the emotional burden of another disheartening conversation with them, I become more emotionally unstable. Every "he's in a better place" and "stay strong" starts to seep into my hyper-stuffed brain. Suddenly I am very aware of the presence of my brother's corpse in the room, even despite the fact that I cannot see it. Aunt Cass picks up on this and tells me I can go for a quick drink.

With some color back to my face, I return to find Aunt Cass crying softly as she speaks with a young woman. Perhaps it wasn't wise to leave her alone with all these people- it was overwhelming with both of us taking it together. 

"...and I know it will be hard to be down a man in the café, so I can work for you whenever you need help, okay?"

"Thanks, really, but with him off at school, we've gotten used to just the two of us anyway."

"Well..." She sighs and smiles, teary-eyed, and wraps her arms around Aunt Cass's black-clad shoulders. "I wish you the best of luck. I hope things look up soon." She walks away with no regard for me.

"Who was that?" I ask, a little haughtily.

"You'll never believe it- Tadashi's sixth grade girlfriend. She drove an hour to be here. Nice girl," she replies, dabbing at her eyes.

"Ew, Taylor? I remember hating her. Tadashi was too good for her." I scrunch up my nose. Aunt Cass tugs halfheartedly at my ear, refraining from laughter.

"Be nice. And maybe he was too good for her, but he was in sixth grade, and..." She trails off, looks at the man kneeling in prayer, and finishes in a whisper. "...and he was too good for any of this." The cheerful banter halts abruptly. Our gazes slowly turn away from each other and back to the long line of people, necks twisting with great resistance, like stone on stone.

Aunt Cass does most of the talking from that point on. I stand faithfully beside her, but I am careful to distract myself from all of the sympathy wishes now. I find myself completely enthralled with the eyes of the mourners, especially those that are lighter in color. Faded, red, and puffy in their sockets, the irises stand out vibrantly. Blues become so electric you could plug a toaster into them. Greens glow like algae after a rainstorm. I wonder what my own eyes look like. I imagine they are swollen to the point where they look like black slits. 

My gaze wanders to the folding chairs where Tadashi's friends are sitting awkwardly. Gogo is the closest, but she is facing the opposite direction. I hiss her name through my teeth. She cannot hear me over the crowd. I inch towards her a little at a time, all the while politely nodding at and smiling to the people who walk through the line, until I am close enough to nudge her with my foot. Her head snaps toward me. When she sees that it is me, the vicious snarl disappears from her face. She is just embarrassed to be caught crying. "Gogo, will you guys stand next to me in line? Please? It's tough with just the two of us."

"Are you sure? We're not family, I don't know how people will take to that."

"Okay, yeah, but I don't really care what they think at this point. And besides, you practically are family." It is too solid an argument for even her to refute. She quickly gathers the others and they slide into place beside me, inconspicuously as possible. 

With more familiar faces on my side of the equation, I gain renewed confidence and enhanced social skills. I actually make conversation with people who pass through. Things go smoothly for the next hour, until a friend of Aunt Cass's named Kelly comes to me.

"Hiro! Can you believe this line?" She says dramatically, jaw dangling open.

"Yeah, I know! The support is so gr-"

"I have been waiting a whole hour and a half. Yeesh. Anyway, these calling hours have been, like, so hard. Seeing all his pictures and baseballs and other personal items set out is really unsettling." I fight to bite my tongue.

"It's... Uh, yeah, it's very hard. Everything in our house kind of shouts his name. This is just the tip of the iceberg."  
"Mmm-Hmm. It's just, Tadashi always wanted to make other people's lives easier and all, you know? Whenever I was over, he would make sure I got whatever I needed. I don't know, I just wonder what he'd think of all this, and how much it hurts so many people?" She sighs, pats my shoulder, and moves on.  
I do not move on.

How could she tell me to my face how "hard" Tadashi's passing had been on her? I am sure that, however hard it was on her or anyone else in that line, it was a heck of a lot harder on us. If having a few of his favorite things on display gives any consolation, we have every right to put them out. How dare she tell me what my brother would want. He tried to make people's lives better, not easier. Tadashi knew that funerals were for the living, not the dead. He taught me that himself, at our parents' funeral ages ago. I was little, but it stuck with me. 

I have a sour taste in my mouth for the rest of calling hours. Every time I hear someone laugh too loudly or spot someone dressed too brightly, my blood boils.

When Ito Ishioka himself steps into the room, my anger comes down to a gentle simmer. He was the man who sponsored the robotics lab at SFIT, where my brother spent the majority of the last year of his life. His attendance is greatly appreciated.

Unsurprisingly, Mr. Ishioka is far from the only person of high status to make an appearance at Tadashi's calling hours. Countless other famous scientists and important people from our area shake my hand and pay their respects. Again I am reminded of just how many hearts Tadashi touched in his short life. 

Finally, long after we'd anticipated, the line begins to dwindle as the last few stragglers hurry through. The many rows of seats prepared for those lingering for the funeral are overflowing and the remaining people crowd against the walls. I crane my neck repeatedly in hopes that more will suddenly flow in. More people, more time between now and my eulogy.

When it seems no one else is coming, the funeral director announces that we are about to begin. I drift into my reserved seat. When I sit, I do not feel the change in elevation. Contrarily, I feel as if I am floating up higher. Concerned that I will pass out, I duck my head between my knees to get the blood flowing back to my brain. I hear worried whispers around me. They think I am crying. I don't care anymore. 

Some clergyman speaks first. I don't know him, but I know Tadashi did. He was always more in touch with the spiritual side of things than me. Though his words are meaningless to me, I admire the soothing tone of the man's voice. Honey Lemon approaches the podium next. We asked her to prepare some words because she's known Tadashi since the second grade and they were on speech team together in high school. I've heard her practice her two nicely assembled paragraphs three times prior to today, but now is the first time I have heard her struggle to get through it. Honey is an amazing public speaker. She is always calm and collected in front of a crowd. Today, each word is separated from the next with a sob. I can hardly understand her. She wraps it up and skitters sadly and sheepishly back to her chair, like a dog with its tail between its legs. Aunt Cass takes her place in the front. Both of us refuse to meet each other's gaze. Her hollow voice sounds tired and scratchy, but she does not cry. When she starts to walk back, my heart freezes. She taps my shoulder.

"Hiro? Honey, you're up. You don't have to go if you don't want to, you know. I mean it," she whispers. I only stare ahead. "We can go right to the slideshow. That's more than enough contribution from you, honey, honestly." Probably undetectably, I nod. I know I will never forgive myself if I don't go up there now. With shaking arms, I push myself out of the safety of my chair. I slowly make my way to the wooden podium on unsteady legs.

As I tilt the bendy microphone down towards me, I am reminded of the SFIT showcase and I burst into an embarrassing coughing fit. "Sorry, sorry, I... I'm sorry." I draw in a deep breath and spread out my three sweat-bent notecards on the board before me. 

When I speak, my voice sounds clear and sure. I focus on what I need to say, rather than what it means.

"Science can tell you how to build a robot. It can tell you which chemicals have a certain healing property, and it can tell you who needs healed. People always say my brother and I are good at all things science, and that's true. I could have built the same healing robot that he did. I know that, and so did he. But Tadashi had so much more than intelligence. He not only built a robot who could help people; he built one that could care for them. See, Tadashi knew so much about people and the way they worked beyond what science could ever tell us. He had so much compassion for everyone he ever met. He was a guy who stayed up late worrying about your problems before giving his own a thought. Tadashi always had such a deep understanding of human emotions and what to do about them. That was the difference between us. And... And now more than ever, I need his knowledge of emotions and his care. I'm lost and scared and-" I choke on air and pause for a moment. Suddenly, I am spiraling out of control. I stop following my notes and I can't stop and I don't even know what I'm saying anymore. "When my parents died, Tadashi knew what to do. He helped me through it all. He played the 'dad' role and the 'brother' role at the same time and I don't think anyone else ever did it so well. Tadashi was the only person I would talk to if I was upset and he's the only person I want to talk to now, but he's gone now and I..." I'm choking again. "I just..." 

The room is silent aside from the sound of my heaving, gross sobs. I can almost hear the old lights buzzing above me. No one moves or speaks for a solid ten seconds, then suddenly the room is alive with panicked crying and noises of distress. Aunt Cass zips to my side and hooks an arm around my shoulder. She pushes me along to the restroom and holds my hair back as I splash my face with cold water. My eyes are hot, red, and nearly swollen shut. I can't stop crying. "I shouldn't have ever let you go up there, Hiro... I'm so sorry... I'm so, so, sorry..." She squeezes me intensely hard for a moment then cups my face in her hands. She shakes her head and wipes one of my tears away with her thumb. "I wish I could stay here with you, make sure you're alright, but everyone is worried sick about you as it is and I really need to get back in there before mass hysteria breaks out. You have your phone?" I nod. "Good. Call or text if you need me and aren't ready to come back yet."

As she jogs off, I begin to realize how unstable I must have sounded up there, and that only makes me cry harder. If Tadashi had heard that, wherever he was, he was pacing back and forth with a scowl on his face, hiding his worry with mock anger. 

I hear the music from my slideshow come on. It's a nice, bittersweet song that I found on his phone. Hipster-y and pleasant. I decide to wait out the rest of the service in here. 

I stuff two complimentary mints from a bowl by the sink into my mouth and the coolness soothes me. When I deem my face worthy-to-be-seen-in-public-once-more, I step into the hallway. I'm still not ready to go back in the room, but there are only a few employees milling about here, so I feel comfortable enough to stay. Now that I am calm, I internally kick myself for all the important parts I missed in my speech due to my brief lapse of sanity. Why couldn't I have mentioned the lighter things, like how he always knew how to cheer people up and how his smile could light the whole room? How he always wanted to help people, and was always able to- even with just a two-minute conversation? How he died doing what he loved most- helping others? Why hadn't I just said the things ordinary people said in their eulogies?

The truth was, I knew the answer. Tadashi deserved so much more than a regular funeral and a regular eulogy. As far as I'm concerned, he was the greatest man who ever lived.

From my bench just outside the funeral parlor, I can hear two women conversing. I recognize one of their voices as my neighbor's. 

"...and poor little Hiro... Why would Cassandra ever send him up there?"

The other lady responds. "Why wouldn't he have to speak at his own brother's funeral? Of course it was hard; it would be hard on anyone. But there are just some things you have to do, you know?"

There is a pause. "Yuni, he's just a child... It's all too much for him."

"Didn't he graduate from high school last year? I think he can handle himself."

"It doesn't matter how smart or mature he is, he's only a boy, and obviously he couldn't handle it, after all. My heart breaks for him. I hope he'll be alright."

"Aww, Janet, I'm sure he will be."

"I wish I could be so sure. Kids in his situation don't usually do so well. They become depressed and-"

I thrust myself off the bench and walk away before I hear any more. While I find myself agreeing with the one woman's thoughts, my neighbor is undeniably right.

Before long, people begin to stream out of the room. They avoid my gaze in a painfully obvious way. They have no idea what to say to me, naturally. Most are probably questioning my mental stability. I am, too, at this point. After a considerable number of them have left, I decide to meet up with Aunt Cass. She is back at her pre-funeral post, standing at right of the casket. I wait for her to finish her conversation with Mrs. Matsura before rejoining her. 

"Hey, almost time to go?" I ask, my eyes flicking to the small crowd staying for the burial.

"Yeah, I think so. Let's head out."

Within moments I am sitting in a hearse, on my way to bury my brother.


End file.
